Deadly Obsession
by JustJotting
Summary: Hermione discovers she has more to survive than a war with Voldemort when an unknown admirer begins stalking her at Hogwarts. Now, a deadly game of obsession and possession has begun that may just turn fatal unless she can unmask the man behind it.
1. Chapter 1

**Deadly Obsession**

Chapter 1

_You are incredible. _

_Thank you for all that you've done._

_Always, yours _

_X_

Hermione frowned in consternation at the slip of paper, recently retrieved from page ninety-seven of her potions textbook. She didn't recognise the handwriting, and with no signature attached she had little idea who could have slipped the note to her. It was a kind gesture all the same, however, and the knowledge that someone had been so thoughtful made the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in pleasure.

Currently in her seventh, and final, year at Hogwarts, Hermione was already feeling the strain of the looming NEWTs. Surprisingly, however, some of her previously-less-than-studious classmates had also had a change of heart where exam results were concerned. Perhaps the knowledge that time at Hogwarts was running out, combined with the realisation that any half decent job required a passing grade, had kicked-started even the slowest of them. So, in addition to her usual study schedule and revision timetable, Hermione was also tutoring a selection of her peers in their failing classes. It was a drain on her energies certainly, but Hermione regarded it both good work experience should she decide on a career in teaching, and excellent revision practice to aid her own knowledge.

Deciding that the note could have easily been from Neville, Seamus, Lavender or even Justin Finch-Fletchely, if he had access to her Potions textbook at some point during the day, Hermione gazed at it fondly for another second before tucking it into her bedside table where she kept a few other sentimental keepsakes. She wouldn't embarrass whoever it was by asking around, as they obviously wished to remain anonymous, but it was lovely to be appreciated once in a while. After all, Merlin knows Harry and Ron had never thought to do something similar in the seven years she'd been saving them from the sticky situations within which they managed to entwine themselves.

The next morning, after completing her usual morning adulations, Hermione descended to breakfast, sliding into a seat next to Ron, and across from Harry.

"Morning!" she addressed them, brightly. Then, catching sight of the angry scowl plastered across Harry's forehead, added, "What's happened?" with foreboding.

"Voldemort!" Harry spat, pushing his chair back violently from the table. "When is it ever anything else?"

He stalked away from the table as Hermione turned helplessly to Ron with a questioning glance. He shrugged in a 'what can we do' sort of way, and pushed the morning edition of the Daily Prophet towards her. Trepidation warred in her gut, as Hermione took a quick gulp of pumpkin juice and lowered her eyes to the front page.

_**FAMILY OF FIVE MURDERED; WIZARDING WORLD ASKS 'WHERE IS OUR SAVIOUR?!'**_

_The Gilbert family are to be the latest victims in a string of horrific murders purported to be carried out by You-Who-Who and his followers. The bodies of Gregory Gilbert, 39, his wife Annie Gilbert, 37, and their three children, Maggie 6, Jack, 4, and Abigail, just 18 months, were discovered at their residence late last night. Consultation with officials of the Auror division concluded that details of their deaths were too horrific for disclosure to the general public. There is no known motive for the killings which Auror's are referring to simply as 'glory murders'. _

_In the wake of such news, this reporter asks whether all measures possible are being taken to protect wizarding citizens from such violence? Is the Minister truly concerned with our safety, or is he more anxious over the well-being of one young man with the power to stop this tragedy? Harry Potter, who showed the ability to defeat the Dark Lord at one year old, remains closeted away at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the careful eye of Albus Dumbledore, while the death toll in wizarding Britain rises by the day-_

Hermione broke off, unable to stomach any more. Growling in disgust, she screwed up the paper into an angry ball, before throwing it onto the table in front of her.

"What a load of garbage!" she spat, enraged. "Honestly, as if _anyone_ would ever believe such lies!"

Ron looked up at her from his scrambled eggs. "They do though. That's half the problem, isn't it?" Seeing Hermione furiously open her mouth to retort, he hurried on. "Not that I don't think they're all barmy mind – 'cos I do, you know that - s'just, they don't know Harry like us, do they?"

Hermione started at him for a moment. "No, they don't." She sighed heavily. "If they did, if they knew him even slightly, then they'd think twice before putting him through this."

Ron nodded sagely, and Hermione couldn't help but watch at her friend for a few more seconds. A blush started to creep up his towards his chin, and self-conscious, Ron scrubbed at his neck for a moment before asking defensively, "What? Do I have muck on me, or something?"

She smiled. "No... I was just thinking." She patted his hand gently. "You know, Ron, sometimes time catches up with me and I realise how much we've all had to grow up recently."

He gave a tired shrug. "It's a war, isn't it? We could hardly stay kids forever."

"No, I suppose not. It's funny, part of me wishes with my whole heart that you, me and Harry could stay exactly how we always have been; young, excited by life, constantly getting into too much mischief. Then again, part of me thinks that as we all grow up we might find... something more than we were before."

Ron continued to look at her quizzically. "So, me getting older... it could be a good thing?"

She squeezed his hand once, and quietly murmured, "It could be a very good thing."

Quickly, she gathered up a few pieces of hot toast and turned to leave the Great Hall. Ron, on the other hand, dived across the table to fetch a large pitcher of pumpkin juice, which was completely inadequate in hiding the blooming blush spreading across his cheeks.

* * *

The grass crunched gently under Hermione's feet as she walked across the sloping lawns to the edge of the black lake. Sliding down the side of a large rock to land gently on her bottom, she crossed her legs neatly and passed the perfectly wrapped handful of buttered toast to the dark-haired boy sitting next to her.

"Thought you might be hungry," she murmured gently.

Harry didn't turn to look at her, but he did snake out a hand to snag the food bundle.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

He sighed, and rubbed a hand against the lightening shaped scar that had caused so many problems. "No," came the dejected response, and then after a moment's pause, "yes... I don't know, maybe. You've heard it all before anyway."

"Maybe so," she answered, staring into the lapping waters before her, "but that doesn't mean you don't need to tell me again."

He sighed again. "I'm just so tired of it all, Hermione. I'm tired of people looking up to me as if I'm the saviour of the wizarding world, and I'm tired of feeling guilty for not saving all those people. I'm tired of constantly looking over my shoulder and watching what I say in case someone's around who's going to try and kill me, or my friends or someone else that I love. I'm just... I'm just so bloody tired, Hermione."

"You're not responsible for those deaths, Harry."

"Yeah, I am. And we both know it too, so let's stop pretending, Hermione," he fired up, angrily. "I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort, so until I get around to that pleasant little task those people are my responsibility!"

She turned to face him swiftly, taking both hands in hers. "Harry, if there is one thing I say this morning that gets through to you, let it be this; you are NOT responsible for those deaths. You didn't point the wand-"

"Yeah, but I didn't stop the person pointing the wand either, did I?"

"You _didn't _murder those people, Harry, directly or indirectly. No sane human being would expect a seventeen year old boy who hasn't even left school yet to be able to dispatch Voldemort!"

"Oh cheers, Hermione. That makes me feel a whole lot better about the whole 'kill or be killed thing'!"

"I have no doubt that you will be strong enough to match him – but not yet, _not yet_, Harry." Seeing him about to retort, she charged ahead before he could draw breath. "And there's absolutely no shame in that, Harry. Would you pit Neville against Voldemort now, before he's even taken his NEWTs? Or Dean? Or Seamus?"

"No," Harry admitted grudgingly.

"Well then-"

"But that reporter-"

"Harry, you shouldn't give a rat's arse what that rag they call a newspaper said!" she growled with venom.

Harry blinked at her in shock. "I think Ron's been having a bad effect on you..."

"Be that as it may," she waved away his comment, flippantly. "My point is the only opinions you should be caring about right now are what the people who know you and care about you think – me, Ron, Ginny, Dumbledore, and the rest of the Weasleys. And let me tell you, none of us believe you are being the least bit cowardly or selfish or whatever else they said about you. In fact, I think you're being incredibly smart; staying safe, learning and preparing for what is to come."

She looked at him for a moment, before adding drolly, "I'd take the smart compliment while you can and run; knowing you as I do it might not be given again."

Harry cracked a smile, but still looked unsure.

"Sirius would agree with me, Harry. I know he would." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "So would your parents."

He swallowed and ducked his head. "Thanks, Hermione."

She nodded, and looked away again to allow him a few moments of privacy, watching idly as the glassy surface of the lake was fractured violently by an errant tentacle.

Harry tapped her gently on the knee, disrupting her thoughts. "Hermione, I err... I just want to say, thanks," he bobbed uncomfortably, "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

She smiled gently back at him, before clambering to her feet. "Come on, we better get back. Good friend I may be, but I'll thump you if you make me late for class!"

Harry chuckled and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Together they strode back up towards the waiting castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Thank Merlin for that!" Ron Weasley exclaimed loudly only seconds after Professor McGonagall had finished rounding up her class lecture. "I thought this day would never end! Come on you slow pokes, let's get out of here."

Smiling at the familiar relief exuding from her red-headed friend, Hermione obligingly packed her bag and the trio joined the throng of jostling classmates at the door. Unexpectedly, the close proximity of so many eager-to-escape students became painful as somebody's elbow dug sharply into her side. Unable to easily identify the culprit, Hermione settled on sighing in relief as the crowd reached over-flow point and spilled out into the corridor, quickly dividing into four groups of students heading back to their respective common rooms.

"Game of chess, Harry?" Ron offered, as the three of them clambered through the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Sure, why not," Harry shrugged in agreement. "Today's as good a day as any to finally wipe that winning smirk from your face."

Ron burst out laughing and clapped his friend on the shoulder, while shaking his head in pity. "Mate... you can try!" He glanced across at Hermione. "You gonna watch?"

She huffed in response and folded her arms across her chest. "Ron, as _thrilling _as it would undoubtedly be to see you preen while you beat Harry for the fifteenth time this week-"

"Hey!" piped up Harry indignantly. "I'm not that bad!"

"- I do have other things to do with my time - _study_ for instance, exams are only six months away, you realise?"

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "How could I with you around?"

Ignoring him, she raised her chin and climbed the stairs to her dorm room. After gathering together her charms textbook, a few dozen sheaves of blank parchment and her favourite quill, Hermione shrugged out of her school robes, opting instead to snuggle into an extra-large Muggle sweatshirt which always helped her study.

Folding her robes carefully ready for the following morning, Hermione frowned as one of the pockets crackled at her. Intrigued, she slipped a hand inside and drew out a small note, very similar to the one she had received only this morning.

_Your kindness towards others is inspirational. _

_Never forget how wonderful a friend you are. _

_Always, yours_

_X  
_

Hermione's breath caught for a second, and she paused, repeating the words over to herself before she felt a slow smile spread languidly across her face. Whirling around, she grabbed up her textbook and rushed back down the stairs to the common room.

Hurrying across the room she knelt down by Harry, pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, and leant down to whisper in his ear. "Thank you, Harry; you don't know how much this means to me!"

Harry, in response, jerked around and inched warily back from her. "Hermione? What-"

"It's okay," she murmured, "I don't mind if you're embarrassed about it – I won't say anything. I just wanted to say thank you – for thinking of me."

"But... But..." Harry stuttered. "What-"

"It's okay," she murmured again, and, smiling secretively, moved away to curl up in her favourite armchair by the fireplace.

In the periphery of her vision she caught Ron, looking very red faced indeed, lean rather aggressively over the chessboard. "What the hell was that about?"

Harry held his hands up in supplication, looking completely bewildered. "Beats me, mate." He cast another worried look in her direction, and added conspiratorially, "Perhaps it's that time of the month, eh?"

Hermione chuckled to herself. _Boys. _Although she did privately congratulate Harry on his acting skills; perhaps he was growing up too, after all.

* * *

Some time later her studying was interrupted by a gentle brush against her sleeve. Geoffrey Fallow, a new seventh year inducted at the beginning of the school year, sat down next to her.

"Hey Hermione," he greeted politely. She smiled and nodded back to him, reluctant to break away from her Charms work.

"I just wanted to come say thanks for helping me study last night."

"You're very welcome," she returned warmly. "You had that Arithmancy re-test today, didn't you? How did it go?"

"Well, I don't want to brag, but..." He chuckled suddenly, looking smug. "Who am I kidding, I love to brag! Let's just say Vector's face will be a picture when she grades it!"

Hermione smiled. "That's really good, Geoff. I'm so proud of you."

"Couldn't have done it without you though," he replied, looking intently at her. "You made all the difference."

Hermione tutted, and flicked a hand flippantly through the air. "I didn't do anything except point you in the right direction. The brain behind it is all you. Besides," she added, her tone softening slightly, "it can't be easy starting Hogwarts late like you are."

He swallowed and looked away from her.

Curiosity piqued, Hermione carried on. "New classes, new teachers, new schoolmates; it all adds to the pressure. Frankly, I'd be amazed if you hadn't had any problems."

"Yeah, well, thanks anyway," he said awkwardly.

"My pleasure."

Silence fell, and Hermione searched his face for a few seconds, wondering whether she should carry on with the questions she dearly wished to ask.

"Geoff-"

"Look, I'd better go," he interrupted suddenly, standing up. "Thanks again, Hermione."

"Oh, ok," she murmured. "If you ever need-"

But he was already striding away towards the stairs and Hermione let her breath out in a whoosh, the ending to her sentence trailing behind unheard.

"-someone to talk to..."

She flicked idly through the next chapter of her charms book, unable to focus properly with the ring of unanswered mysteries zipping through her brain. She didn't have long to think, however, before Ron flounced up, a scowl already embedded in his features. Hermione sighed, knowing that expression far too well after seven years of close friendship. This would undoubtedly be Ron at his worst; an encounter she never relished.

"What were you talking to that tosser for?" he sneered, plunking himself down ungracefully in the chair Geoffrey had just vacated.

"Because he's my friend, Ron. Simple concept really – friends like to talk to each other – just like you and I are doing now."

He missed, or chose to ignore, her sarcasm.

"Oh come on, Hermione, you hardly know the guy!"

"So?" she asked, feeling anger prickle her belly. Taking a deep breath she attempted to soothe herself; experience had taught her that these frictions ended better if at least one of them was calm. "I don't recall knowing you particularly well when we first befriended each other. In fact, if I remember rightly, you were a first class git in the beginning. Geoffrey, on the other hand, has been nothing but pleasant to me."

_"Geoffrey has been nothing but pleasant to me,"_ Ron imitated childishly. "Grow up, Hermione, how do you think a Death Eater would act if he was trying to get information out of you. He's probably a spy sent in by Voldemort or something!"

"Ronald! How dare you!" she fired up, calmness be damned. "Not everyone is an agent of Voldemort. It's attitudes like yours that are giving him such a hard time – half the school won't even talk to him."

"Well you can't blame them, can you?" Ron shouted. "Haven't you noticed the number of Muggleborns that haven't come back this year?"

"Of course I have, Ron," she uttered, very quietly. "Bypassing the fact that, as Head Girl, I'm responsible for these students, did you really expect me not to notice the missing ones?" When he didn't reply, she continued coldly, "Well, let me make it clearer for you, shall I? Starting with the first years; Mandy Ecklesborough of Ravenclaw, Justin Shenton and Hannah Claydon of Hufflepuff and Dave Bystin of Gryffindor. Out of the second years, Lousie Armsley and Frank Fornby of Ravenclaw-"

"Okay, okay," Ron muttered, "I get your point." He shuffled awkwardly for a second. "Sorry."

Hermione said nothing, but nodded very slightly, accepting it.

Ron ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. "Look, I'm just saying, with everything that's happening at the moment, you just can't trust strangers."

"Well, that's where we differ then, Ron," she replied, tightly. "You see, I believe that is just the sort of ignorant and judgemental view a Death Eater would take."

Ron's head shot up and his glare returned. "Now is not the time to be pretend to be all moral and good, Hermione. For Merlin's sake, no one else has ever been admitted to Hogwarts late before and then suddenly he appears all la-de-da and we're expected to believe this is normal?"

"Actually, Ronald, there a quite a few examples of transfer students, who have either arrived from other wizarding institutions or from home-schooling, detailed in 'Hogwarts; a History'. _Had_ you ever bothered to read it, you might have known that."

Ron rolled his eyes and glared even more. In retrospect, Hermione thought, perhaps that had been a little patronising.

"Well, what about the fact that he refuses to say anything at all about why he's joined the school now, or where he was before?" The aggression had still not disappeared.

"Perhaps he's a private person. Had that fundamentally simple thought ever occurred to you?"

Ron folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "Fine, be like that." He turned to walk away from her, but then his temper seemed to crack completely and he whirled back to face her.

"Merlin, it's like Krum all over again! This time it's not secrets about some stupid contest he's getting out of you, it's a war!"

"I never- How dare you!" Hermione shrieked, completely enraged and utterly unable to form a sentence.

"Firstly," she managed, very coldly, "I never told Victor a _thing_ about Harry. Secondly, how _dare _you even suggest I would compromise this war effort-"

"Dunno, I'm sure lover-boy can be quite persuasive," Ron returned, voice twisted in spite.

"How dare- oh, as if this morning I even _entertained_ the idea that you could have grown up!"

"Whatever," Ron said, turning away and stumping angrily in the direction of the stairs.

Hermione dearly wanted to hit him, but placated herself with punching a cushion on the chair next to Harry instead. Turning to her black-haired friend she opened her mouth to vent when he cut her off.

"Oi, don't get me involved," he said, holding his hands up. "I'm tired of mediating between you two – you'll just have to figure it out by yourselves."

"Fine," she said shortly, and, shaking with anger, managed somehow to climb the stairs to her room. Tearing off her clothes, she started to change quickly into her pyjamas, determined to go to sleep and think nothing more on Ronald Weasley. Just as she reached for the bedcovers, however, she noticed a white scrap of paper lying innocently upon her pillow.

_You are too beautiful for words._

_Those that surround you do nothing to deserve you._

_Yours, always_

_X_

Hermione felt a chill she couldn't identify sweep down her spine. Clutching the note tightly, she glanced quickly around the room, but there was no one but her present and nothing else seemed out of place. Still, apart from herself, only Lavender and Parvati should have access to this room – and she found it hard to believe such a series of notes have been penned by either of the girls.

Slightly unsettled, Hermione reasoned that either someone was being very nice and one of her roommates had let them into the room, or she was the object of a practical joke. Either way, neither would do her lasting harm – unlike Ronald. Her fury returning, Hermione crumpled the scrap of paper and tossed it into her bedside draw before climbing into bed and pondering the many different methods she could use to torture her one-time best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The atmosphere at breakfast the next day was frosty, to say the least. Unfortunately, Harry was the last to arrive at the table, which left Ron and Hermione stewing in tense silence until his appearance. The Boy-Who-Lived had barely enough time to snatch a piece of toast and pour himself a glass of pumpkin juice before Ron pounced.

"Fancy a game of Quidditch at lunch, Harry?"

Irritated, Hermione jumped in. "Don't be so silly. Harry has more important things to do, Ron; studying for exams and preparing for his training with Moody tonight, for instance."

"Harry would like the pair of you to shut up and leave him out of your mess, thanks very much," Harry growled in response.

From then on Hermione and Ron studiously ignored one another, while Harry was so fed up with the pair of them that he sat engrossed in his newest defence book for the entire meal and didn't bother saying anything else.

Classes that day passed in mutinous silence, and it wasn't until later that evening that Hermione had a chance to talk to Harry alone. With Ron gone to work out his stress on the Quidditch pitch, she took her chance and sat down opposite Harry at the table he was working at.

After a few minutes of watching him flick and twitch his wand in a complicated pattern, Hermione frowned.

"What's the spell you're working on? I'm not sure I recognise it," she asked, nonplussed.

"And Hell freezes over," Harry joked, drolly.

She hit him lightly on the arm. "Seriously, Harry."

He sighed and put down his wand. "It's a new shield charm Moody taught me. Supposed to shield and repel all spells 'cept the Unforgivables and four times as strong as _protego_."

"Ooh, how fascinating," she replied, eyes alight. "Can you teach me?"

He snorted. "Can't even teach myself at this point. I don't think I have the wand movement quite right – I'll have to ask Moody to go over it again next time I see him."

She nodded, not able to completely contain her disappointment. "How are those lessons going anyway?"

Dumbledore had arranged for a few members of the Order to give Harry some private tuition in addition to his usual classes. He was taught advanced battle and defence by Mad-Eye Moody, while Kingsley Shakelbolt helped out with strategy pointers when he was able.

Harry shrugged. "It's good, really good when I get the lessons. Problem is that I don't get much time with them anymore, what with the Order strung so tight trying to protect everyone and fight off these constant attacks."

He scrubbed at his eyes with a tired hand. "Not that I'm complaining – everyone's so busy these days trying to stay alive that I understand why teaching is cancelled so often – it's just..."

"Arming you with the tools to defeat Voldemort should be one of their main priorities, Harry. It's okay to feel a little annoyed," she said gently.

He shook his head. "I'm not angry. I'm just," he gave a self-deprecating laugh; "I suppose I'm just scared 'cos I know I'm nowhere near ready to meet him again."

She nodded, unable to find anything particularly reassuring to say. "If you ever want to use me as target practice, I'm willing and able – I'll just make sure we have a good supply of cushions if you're practicing stunning again!"

He cracked a smile. "Thanks, Hermione."

She paused, and then decided to bring up the topic playing on her mind before Harry became engrossed in his work again.

"Harry, did you leave a note in my room last night?"

He looked up at her confused. "No, couldn't have even got up into your room – you know my cloak doesn't work on those stupid stairs." He paused to look at her. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Someone left me a message but didn't give their name – just trying down to narrow down who it might have been."

Harry looked worried. "What did it say? You sure it wasn't a trick? Voldemort might be trying to get to you."

She laughed. "Harry, stop being paranoid! You-Know-Who isn't involved in everything mysterious that goes on around here."

When he continued to look worried, she smiled reassuringly and patted his arm. "Don't worry, it didn't say anything important. Just a trivial little message that caught my curiosity – you know what I'm like!"

He breathed out, relieved. "Okay, good."

When she made to stand up, he quickly added, "Look, how long is this thing with you and Ron going to go on?"

"Harry," she sighed. "You know I don't like arguing with him-"

"So why do you?" he asked obstinately.

"Because he's so infuriating sometimes I just can't help it! I won't apologise for what I said Harry. He's in the wrong, and I can't stand his attitude towards Geoff at the moment."

"Look," Harry added, "about him..."

"Oh, not you too," she sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you both to become best friends with him – I'm asking you to trust me when I say he's a good person who doesn't deserve the shunning he's enduring at the moment. "

"It's just a little suspicious, Hermione," he continued slowly.

"So what if it is. That doesn't make him evil – whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty anyway?"

"It doesn't exist in wartime. My parents believed in innocent until proven guilty and look where that got them," he answered shortly.

There was silence for a moment. In the end, Hermione sighed and asked bluntly, "Do you trust me, Harry?"

He looked away and muttered "yes" very quietly.

"Good. Then I'm asking you to just place your faith in me for this."

He scrubbed at his face again, before groaning loudly. "Fine! In return, you have to make up with Ron. I can't stand being bounced between the two of you for much longer. It's not fair, and I have enough to cope with at the moment as it is."

At those words Hermione felt a red hot trickle of shame course its way through her body. Harry was worrying himself sick over the people that might be dying this second at the end of Voldemort's wand, and here she was making life harder, rather than easier, for him.

Guiltily, she nodded. "I'll try, Harry. I promise I'll try."

"Thanks." He shifted his book around on the table. "Well... I better get back to work. Moody always seems to know when I'm not prepared, and believe me, his spells _hurt_."

"Of course," she said quickly, standing up. "It's about time I did some studying of my own anyway. Night, Harry."

He waved absentmindedly, already concentrating on his spell work again. "Night."

Climbing the stairs, Hermione felt tendrils of nervousness curl inside her at the thought that there might be another message waiting for her as there had been the two previous nights. Upon entering her room, however, everything seemed exactly as she had left it, and, despite a thorough search of her bed covers, no mysterious notes were forthcoming.

Irritated at herself for getting so worked up about something so trivial, Hermione grabbed her Transfiguration textbook and snuggled into bed. The room, for once, was absolutely silent; presumably the other girls were out stalking the next unfortunate boy to fall prey to their charms. Happy that she would at least get some quality time with her books, Hermione settled down for an evening of quiet study.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Early the next morning Hermione darted out of bed and down to breakfast in record time, determined to catch Ron before Harry made an appearance at the table. Sliding in across from him, she grabbed an apple, fortified her nerves, and began, "Ron, we need to talk."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, but continued heaping his plate with sausages, bacon and scrambled egg.

"I'll say this plainly; I think you're an ignorant, narrow-minded berk for thinking what you do, and you think I'm a naive, arrogant fool with too much trust and not enough sense."

Ron choked on his sausage.

"Fine, think that. Believe it or not, I do understand, after all that we've been through together, why you don't trust Geoff." Ron, having managed to swallow the sausage and regain his breath, simply looked at her, waiting. She carried on. "I just don't understand why you can't trust me. "

There was silence for a moment, before Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyway. What I wanted to say to you is this; we both have different views, I accept that and I won't try to change yours if you grant me the same liberty. This," she gestured between them with her hands, "us, arguing all the time though... it's not fair to Harry. He deserves better than his two best friends constantly sniping at each other and fighting over him. He's got enough stress to be going on with."

Ron blew out his breath slowly. "For Harry?" he asked.

She nodded. "For Harry."

His shoulders slumped and he clenched his eyes tight for a moment, breathing slowly. Then he looked up at her and gave her a very small smile. Hermione felt something deep within her breast crack at that moment, relief and happiness coursing through her.

"So," Ron said slowly. "I've been a bit slow lately – how was your day yesterday?"

Hermione grinned. "It was pretty awful. You see, my best friend wasn't talking to me, and although he can be a bit of an idiot at times, I miss him when he's not around."

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her. "Really? Sounds like this fool's pretty important to you."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the way Ron was looking at her. Without moving her eyes from his, she murmured, "He is. More than he knows."

Ron gulped and opened his mouth to answer. Before he could, however, Harry sat down at the table next to her, splintering the moment. Ron looked away, embarrassed, and Hermione swallowed against the crushing tidal wave of regret that Harry had chosen that particular moment to join them.

Harry looked back and forth between them for a second, trying to gauge the atmosphere. Ron spoke up before he could come to a decision, however. "It's okay mate, we're good."

Harry nodded in relief, but Ron's eyes lingered on Hermione's for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, as if trying to convey something else to her in that statement.

Reassured, she nodded subtly back at him, relieved that there would be no awkwardness between them and that their friendship would be as it had before.

An enormous fluttering erupted around them at that moment, signalling the arrival of the post owls. Two ordinary looking birds detached themselves from the masses, winging their way towards the trio. Looking up just in time, Hermione snatched her goblet out of the way as the two owls landed haphazardly on the bench in front of them, both squabbling for the space to deliver their messages first. Squawking angrily, the first hopped over towards Hermione, while the second preened self-importantly before flapping in Harry's direction.

Curiously, Hermione leant forwards and gently untied the small missive around her bird's leg.

_Your beauty this morning takes my breath away. _

_I ache to touch you. _

_Always, yours_

_X_

Hermione stilled as the words on the small piece of parchment seemed to burn themselves into her brain the instant she read them. Her world tunnelled, all her focus zooming into the three lines in front of her, written with black ink and scripted in a beautiful hand. Suddenly, the possibility that these notes were written in thanks for her tutoring abilities seemed wholly implausible. A gratuitous friend, after all, would flatter her mind not her body – if they flattered at all.

Abruptly, Hermione felt very conspicuous, as if she was sitting not safe and confined amongst her peers, but on a pedestal above them and open to the staring adolescent gawping of the masses within this room. Self-consciously, she released a coil of bushy hair from behind her ear, letting it fall forward to hide a portion of her face. Glancing around nervously, she tried to inspect the faces around her, watching desperately for anyone who was watching her in return. The numbers overwhelmed her though; it could have been anyone within this room, or indeed, anyone who had already left the hall. Her only clue was that someone who had seen her this morning had subsequently written the letter. Inappropriately, she wanted to laugh - seeing as most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts were currently eating breakfast around her this hardly narrowed it down.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione forced her frantic thoughts to slow down and assess the evidence provided. Once her heart rate had slowed somewhat, she began systematically rationalising. The most likely possibility, after all, was still that someone was playing a practical joke on her; laughing at a distance at the bookworm's pleasure in finally having someone notice more than her brain. Hermione did not find the joke amusing in the slightest; rather, she found it cruel. However, her classmates, friendly though they usually were to her, were not always known for their maturity and it was highly likely that this was nothing more sinister than adolescent teasing.

Strangely, that thought almost disappointed her - as creepy as the notes appeared the possibility that _someone _had taken an interest in her, had deigned to look beyond the superficial, had been exhilarating. Forcing her heart back to normality, Hermione compelled herself to be sensible. After all, she was Hermione Granger; bookish, loyal, intelligent. She did not excite ardent passion in the opposite sex.

Ron interrupted her errant thoughts. "Hermione!"

She looked up, still clutching the scrap of paper to her.

"Finally!" he continued. "What's up? We've been trying to get your attention for ages – you've just been staring into space."

"Have I?" she asked, pulling herself together. "Sorry, I must not have had enough sleep last night."

"What did it say?" Ron asked, gesturing towards her note. "Anything important?"

"Oh, um," she murmured, feeling her fingers clench around the parchment. Looking up at Ron's earnest face, she wanted to tell him everything and confide the fears hiding within her heart. Just as she was about to, however, an image crept unbidden into her mind; Ron scoffing that anyone would find _her _attractive, while Harry looked away, embarrassed for her that she could misconstrue a joke so thoroughly. In the background, a laughing table of her classmates formed -all jeering at her complete gullibility.

Hermione felt her face heat with humiliation at the mere thought of such a scene. And really, when all was said and done, the chance of a real suitor wanting her was frightfully small. Hermione was no fool, and refused to be played like one. She knew precisely the manner in which she was regarded by her peers, but now, today, she officially refused to play along. She would find out which one of her peers was laughing at her expense... and when she did, well, being Head Girl had a few privileges, after all...

Smiling a slightly wicked smile, she looked back up at Ron and shrugged nonchalantly. "No, nothing important. Just a small letter from my parents."

The lie burned her as she spoke it, and, uncomfortable, Hermione tried to remember the last time she had lied to her two best friends. She couldn't.

They accepted her word though, as she had known they would. Why question the honesty of a girl whom had always been truthful with them before, after all?

Ron nodded, and turned his attention back to Harry. "So when you going to go see Dumbledore then?"

Harry looked at his watch, then across at the High Table from which their Headmaster was just retiring. "Now, I think. Should have time before Potions."

Hermione frowned, feeling as if her normal world was slightly off-kilter and she was stumbling around trying to stay standing. The letter burned a hole in her pocket. "Why do you need to see the Headmaster, Harry?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You were off in your own world during that bit. Harry just got summoned. "

Harry obligingly held out his letter and answered the question in her eyes. "Don't know why yet – just says to come to his office at _'my soonest convenience'_. Wonder who it is this time," he added darkly.

Hermione bit her lip and put a soothing hand on his arm. "Don't think like that, Harry. Not before we know for certain, at least."

He shrugged, but got up from the table and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, I better go find out. See you two later."

With that he hurried off, leaving war-preoccupied thoughts in his wake.


End file.
